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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865849">Partners in Crime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mebreb/pseuds/Mebreb'>Mebreb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC Super Hero Girls (Cartoon 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Heroes to Villains, hero to villain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:07:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mebreb/pseuds/Mebreb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Babs realizes her oldest friend is Harley Quinn, Harleen convinces her to go on just one crime with her before taking her in; she agrees, but little does Babs know what this will awaken in her...<br/>(Based on an AU from wagonfullapancakes and scrunchmew on DeviantArt)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara Gordon/Harleen Quinzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mandatory Reporter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Babs couldn't believe it. She wouldn't. Didn't!</p><p>She sat in the girls' locker room, staring into the gym bag that belonged to her dearest friend Harleen Quinzel. She'd only gotten into it at all because she'd forgotten her deodorant, and surely her best friend since early childhood wouldn't mind letting her lay on a few swipes; soon enough, however, her fingers found themselves ruffling through black and red spandex, and, just out of plain curiosity, a jester hat with white bells.</p><p>She recognized it, of course: the signature suit of Harley Quinn. The names were always similar, but Harleen was a good friend of hers. Babs herself wasn't a villain, so it would stand to reason the people she aligned herself with also weren't villains, let alone someone close enough to say she loved her.</p><p>And she did.</p><p>But this...</p><p>No. This couldn't be true. It was cosplay, obviously. Harleen fangirled over the Joker constantly, who's to say she wouldn't do the same for a similar character?</p><p>It was an imitation, case closed. Babs took out her hands and zipped it up halfway...</p><p>...but only just. She remembered something that would put this to a real test instead of just basing her conclusion off of assumptions: the other night, when she was chasing Quinn down an alley dressed as Batgirl, she could swear she saw the girl tear part of her thigh on a long nail sticking out of the wall. Nobody else saw it, as far as she knew, and Harley hadn't been shown on television since, so...</p><p>Babs opened the zipper and ruffled through it one more time, quietly damning the detective in her for every second she spent doing it.</p><p>There it was: a tear on her thigh, right where she saw it happen the other night. The gym bag zipped up faster than she had intended.</p><p>Babs couldn't breath. Her head was spinning, her heart skipped a beat, every cliché was coming to a peak inside of her. She wanted to say this couldn't be true, but she wanted to lie even less.</p><p>All she could think – all she could bear to think – was that this really wasn't worth the deodorant.</p><hr/><p>Harleen hadn't heard from Babs since PE, which was unusual most school days; so, naturally, when Babs sent her a text telling her to come to Sweet Justice alone, she was a bit surprised.</p><p>She walked in and immediately spotted that purple hoodie and ginger crest she'd know anywhere, sitting hunched over a table booth in the far corner of the room. Her eyes were narrowed, brows were furrowed, and it looked like she was holding something back behind those bright pink cheeks. Whatever she was thinking, it was intense.</p><p>Harleen skipped over to Babs's table. "Hiya, Bab-arooni!"</p><p>Babs's eyes shifted in their sockets to look at her, but her head stayed right where it was. Her intensity was unflinching.</p><p>Harleen dropped the smile.</p><p>'Aw geez,' she thought. 'How'd I screw it up this time?'</p><p>"Babby-boo, what's wrong?"</p><p><em>'What's wrong.'</em> Those words seemed to shake Babs to her core. Something was very wrong – wrong enough to put her right on the verge of tears where still she just couldn't show it. She faced the tabletop, making only her pointed hoodie and hair visible to her lifelong friend.</p><p>"Babs, if theah's anything I can d–"</p><p>
  <em>"You're Harley Quinn."</em>
</p><p>Harleen's heart stopped.</p><p>"What?" she asked quietly.</p><p><em>"Aren't</em> you?" It was so accusatory, and in a way she'd never spoken to Harleen before.</p><p>Harleen shook her head. Her mouth hung open, but she wasn't sure she had the heart to tell her differently.</p><p>"Babsy, I... don't know what you're–"</p><p>"I found your gym bag. It's not cosplay, I checked."</p><p>"You... checked? How–?"</p><p>"Harleen..." Babs raised her head, but only enough that she could make eye contact with the person sitting in front of her. Her eyes were dark and moist. "...you w-wouldn't l-lie to me... right?"</p><p>"Of coahse not!"</p><p>"Then tell me: are you Harley Quinn?"</p><p>"I..." She paused. And sighed. And told herself for the millionth time in these past few seconds that this wasn't how she was supposed to find out.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>
  <em>"I'm so stupid."</em>
</p><p>Harleen shook her head. "Babsy, no..."</p><p>"I was stupid not to figure it out before, with the name and the voice and the way you two acted, and I was stupid to be friends with you in the first place..."</p><p>"No, hey!" Harleen reached over to cup her hands around Barbara's cheeks. Her hands felt wet from tears streaming down get friend's eyes, "Listen: ya the smawtest, nicest, bravest girl I have evah met in my life, and if anyone is ta blame heeyah, it's me. I did all those things, not you."</p><p>Barbara sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>She was still frowning, even as Harleen resigned herself to her half of the table.</p><p>"So, uh... ya not gonna tell anybody about this, awe ya? Loose lips an' all that?"</p><p>"Harleen! MY DAD. IS. A COP!" Barbara pulled hard on the locks of hair coming down from over ears. With her shoulders practically over her head, she looked about ready to snap.</p><p>"Ain't he retiyah'd, though?"</p><p>"Yes, but he–! But I–! I can't just–! <em>AUUUGH!"</em></p><p>Babs slammed her face into the table with a thump and a clatter of silverware. She mumbled quietly to herself and there was a small whine in it that signaled she was clearly still upset.</p><p>Harleen hesitated to even touch the topic much further; and yet, someone had to say something. Or else neither of them could leave in good conscious. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Babs beat her to it.</p><p><em>"Why?</em> Why do you do it, Harley?"</p><p>Harleen averted her gaze and shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, how can ya <em>not</em> do it?"</p><p>"Harley, you need to stop! You're going to get caught, or hurt, or... <em>or...!"</em> She hesitated to say what else.</p><p>"Ah, nonsense, tons of criminals don't get caught by police every day!"</p><p>"Yeah, until they do!"</p><p>"What, like gambling?"</p><p>Babs nodded.</p><p>"Babsies, look: y'know how, in gambling, the house always wins?"</p><p>Babs nodded again.</p><p>"Well, it's not like that. Y'see, ya don't just bet on not gettin' caught, you make <em>sure</em> ya don't get caught. An' then ya don't! Simple as that!"</p><p>Babs mulled it over. She stepped out of her seat and began walking towards the entrance.</p><p>"I need to tell somebody about this."</p><p>"Whoa, whoa, wait! Hold on!" Babs got as far as the next booth over (which was empty, thank God) before Harleen grabbed her by the wrist.</p><p>"Babby-bye, you know I'd nevah hurt ya, right?"</p><p>"Harleen... Harley... you already have."</p><p>"B-but what if I could make it bettah? What if I could introduce ya to a whole new world?"</p><p>"What are you saying?"</p><p>"I'm sayin' don't knock it til ya try it! If you can come with me on one last hit an' you still want to turn me in, I'll do it myself – willin'ly!"</p><p>"But– Harleen, I–"</p><p>"Barbara Kean Gordon, you know I'd nevah lie to ya, right? Maybe hidden some things, or given ya some false excuses, but nevah said anything wasn't true that was, right?"</p><p>"I... I guess not, but–"</p><p>"C'maaahn, it'll be jus' like Gotham! Whaddaya say?"</p><p>Babs looked into the girl's harlequin smile (the irony of which was not lost on her) and saw a bargain she knew she had to take. Getting help, going to jail or juvie or wherever she was gonna go – it was best for her, and if she didn't come willingly, she was going to get hurt. As betrayed as Babs felt, and as much as she hated the idea of going through with this, she didn't have it anywhere in her to let that happen. Not to Harleen. Not <em>her</em> Harleen.</p><p>Babs sighed.</p><p>"Deal," she said.</p><p>Harleen squealed with joy, feet jumping up and down frantically. "Thank you so much, Babsy-boodle!" Her arms reached around Barbara's body as she practically jumped into a hug and squeezed tight. "Ya not gonna regret this!"</p><p>Harleen ran out of the store, leaving Babs to wonder what in the world she'd just agreed to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Aiding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Babs assists Harley in a run-of-the-mill crime only to come face-to-face with something that's anything but.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tried to make Harley's accent a little more consistent, at least within the chapter itself.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>The instructions were clear:</p>
</div><div>
  <p>First, make something to conceal your identity. Easy enough, Babs had done it before, and on multiple occasions. She couldn't use her usual outfit, of course not; instead, she took out an old, bat-eared hockey mask she bought from a gift shop back in Gotham. She might have trouble talking in it, but there was no reason to ruin a perfectly good souvenir for just one night out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Next, keep it somewhere inconspicuous, preferably her school backpack. She didn't like the prospect of getting caught with it, but she didn't have any other options besides her dad's duffel bag, which would only look more conspicuous. Or maybe she'd been watching too many action movies.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then (and this is where she had to start writing it down), at half past 6, go to York Street in downtown Metropolis where a red truck is sitting in the alley. "You'll know it when ya see it," Harleen had added, which at least made it sound that much easier.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>This part was by far the hardest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs poked her head around the corner of the hall leading into the living room, where dad was sitting on the couch, watching TV. She just had to trust he was too occupied with what was on to notice her or start asking questions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She had almost touched the doorknob when she heard him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey there, Pumpkin Pants! Where you headed?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>'Crap.'</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs turned about-face, body tense and shoulders poised high above the straps of her backpack, having painted the least awkward smile on her face that she could muster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Heeey, Daaad! I was just, uh... going to meet up! With a friend!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She couldn't lie to his face, but she didn't have to tell him the whole truth either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, that's nice! One of your friends from school?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, um, Harleen, actually."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Your old pal from Gotham? I didn't know she started going there."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh, yeah. Started about, I think... a few months ago?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hm."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs didn't like the sound of that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"W-what about it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Nothing, nothing. It's just... be careful around her, okay? I've heard some things from the boys back at Gotham, and, well... I think she might be a bad influence, is all."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"O-oh! You really think so?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I mean, I trust your judgement, of course. Just... stay safe. Alright, kiddo?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her back was already up against the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"A-alright, Dad, I will."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alright then, Pumpkin Pants. See you later!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He waved to her and she waved back, her other hand opening the door so she could slide out as soon and as quickly as possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Even when she did, that was barely the half of it. Every step she took outside the house, her mind drifted back to that moment with her and her father, about how guilty she felt, about how her doing this went against everything he had taught her, against everything he had stood for – everything she stood for. She knew it didn't actually do that in the long run, not if Harleen kept her promise; and yet, as she stopped to cross streets and weave around corners, there was this growing sense that she was violating some sacred code, one that was now screaming at her to turn back this very instant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Even the people around her weren't an exception to this: was anyone suspicious of her, seeing her hunched over with her backpack straps held so tightly? Did she really look that suspicious? No, it was the big city, people have seen weirder things and thought nothing of it, stop fretting over it. But she should probably look at that person over there to check. Or that one. Or that one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Actually, was this whole thing a trick? Was it a test to see if Babs would really break the law? Was Harleen going to even show up, or was she going to skip town? Should Babs? She wasn't just a nervous wreck by this point, she was certifiably paranoid.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Still, however much she trembled and second-guessed each step, her feet led her to the alley on York Street where there was indeed a red pickup truck tucked away in an alley. In the backseat was a big, blue tarp, which Babs assumed would come in later. She could also see Harleen wave at her from the passenger's seat where she was wearing her casual clothes. Even as Babs moved closer, Harleen didn't move from her spot, which left only the driver's seat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh no." Barbara's face sank in. She scurried over to open the driver's side door and poked her head in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Babbles!" greeted Harleen. "Ya made it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Leeny, please don't tell me I have to drive us there!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whattaya mean? Ya gotcha drivah's license, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, yeah, but–"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Then fuggetabadit! I don't expect ya ta get into a police chase first time 'round, anywho. Jus' need ya ta pull up where I tell ya, an' drive away all quick-like. Capiche?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I... well..." Babs searched through her other options, of which there were none. "Alright," she sighed, and slid herself into the driver's seat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Great!" Harleen ducked under the dashboard and came up a second later in a black mask, full make-up and a jester's hat. "Ready when you are!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whoa!" shouted Babs. She would have jumped right out of the car if she hadn't closed the door already. "How—?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What, the make-up? Eh, I done it a million times. Ya get used to it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>'Yeah,' thought Babs, 'no kidding…'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harleen began to unzip her jacket and Babs could feel a rush of hot panic run up her spine. "Wait! Are you really gonna do that... in here!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh, yeah? Why not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harleen unzipped further and Babs saw that her friend already had her Harley Quinn outfit under her jacket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...oh! You're... already dressed."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What, an' you ain't?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I, uh, hehe, well, uh..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harleen rolled her eyes and pointed to the tarp-covered seats behind her. "Back o' the truck, if ya must."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs smiled awkwardly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ehehe, thanks." She climbed over the driver's seat and once she was settled under the tarp, unzipped her bag to start changing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>As Harley slipped her frilled gloves on, she couldn't help but smirk and sneak a sideways glance into the rear-view mirror.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Though she could see clearly enough through her hockey mask, Babs could have sworn there were more turns on the way to the bank than there actually were.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harleen explained that they were just lifting an ATM from outside the bank rather than going in: Babs would park the car next to it, Harley would hook it up to the tow chain in the back of the truck, Babs would move the car just forwards enough to pry it from the wall, and Harley would heave it into the truck so they could take off in less time than it took to blink.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"S'at kosher for ya?" Harleen capped it off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs stopped at a red light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She wanted to agree. She wanted to get this conversation and this heist over with as smoothly as possible; instead, she threw her head back and huffed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, Harleen, it's not kosher! Y-you-you're asking me to j-just... steal an ATM machine, when I've never done this before in my life!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's just drivin', is all. Ya done that plenty o' times before, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I mean, I'm not used to hurting people like this!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whattaya talkin' about? It's not like we're whackin' nobody."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"How can you say that!? We're stealing, and stealing hurts people!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It ain't stealin'! Not properly, anywho."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"But it's taking money away from innocent victims!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, it ain't! Banks are insured by the gov'nment, y'see? Everythin's digital an' all that, so when money gets stolen, the accounts are all the same. Nobody loses nothin', see?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"W-well... what about the people who have to clean up after? People have to pay to replace the machine itself, probably fix the wall, replace the money..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Exactly! More work means more jobs, more jobs means more circle-ation an' whatnot, an' money makes the world go round. Capiche?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs quickly made sure she didn't have to drive ahead. Good thing this was quite possibly the second-longest red light she'd been at.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So, wait a minute," she went on. "You're saying that us robbing a bank... is <em>economic!?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Right on the money, Babby-kins – <em>literally,</em> ha!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't believe this..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs glanced up just in time to see the light turn green.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She sighed. "Alright." She shook it off, at least for the time being. "Let's just get this over with."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Two more corners and there they were: right next to the ATM built into a square hole in the bank's brick wall. The double doors leading inside were just a few feet away, further from them than the ATM was. 'That's where the guards are going to come out from and arrest us, any second now,' Babs thought. She pushed it to the back of her mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The sign reading "bank" in big, bold letters loomed overhead; to Babs, the gaps in the letters felt like eyes staring at her, like the building itself was judging her the more she stayed parked in front of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"A'right," said Harley, "here's what we're gonna do: when I give the signal, drive until you hear somethin' roughly the sound of an ATM gettin' ripped out of a wall."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wait, 'signal'? What signal? What do you mean 'signal'!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Just the word 'go' or somethin', don't worry abaddit!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm pretty sure I lost that option on the way over here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ugh, clearly!" Harley popped the car door open and took a step out; before she did, she paused and turned around to face the friend she knew one last time. "You'll do fine," she said softly, "I know ya will!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs nodded. She tried feigning a smile, but it was lost behind her bat-eared hockey mask; still, Harleen smiled and nodded back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Facing sternly in front, Babs could hear the chains rustling and the winch clanking from behind. She checked the rear-view mirror and saw Harley pulling the heavy chains over to the ATM. No guards so far...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With a 'CHUNK,' the hook was inserted into the ATM's keyboard with all the grace of a loose rock.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"A'right," Harley called out with her thumb in the air. "Let 'er rip!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs pressed down on the gas, going forward as slowly as she could so the ATM wouldn't go flying. Before too long, the chain went tight and Babs could feel it resist against the forward motion of the truck as it slowed to an inch a minute.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her whole body tensed up. It felt like she was pulling a tooth out. "Steady," she told herself, "steady..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs checked the rear-view again, and saw Harley staring at her with this look like she was doing something wrong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whattaya doin' ovah there!?" she shouted. "Just yank it outta the—!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey!" Two men in security uniforms rounded the corner, one pointing in Harley's direction. "It's Harley Quinn!" The two of them reached for their guns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, sh—!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With a loud 'CRUNCH,' the machine had finally been dislodged from the wall, leaving an empty brick hole that the less automatic tellers could see right out of, and the ATM fell flat on its front.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"New plan!" Harley yelled out. As the guards took aim, she jumped so she ended up sitting on top of the ATM. Babs hoped she wasn't doing what she thought she was doing...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"DRIVE!" Harley shouted, sitting on top of the ATM.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>...she was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Practically on instinct, Babs cranked into gear and hit the gas as fast as she could, skidding off into traffic with the ATM trailing behind her. She wasn't looking at it, though; her focus was on the road ahead, getting out of trouble as fast as she could, doing what Harley said...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>'Oh, Harleen,' Babs mused amidst the sound of shots being fired. 'Why did I have to do what she said in the first place? Why did I even agree to this, this is insane!" She swerved around the few cars that were parked around the corner, yelling as one of the bullets hit the broad side of the truck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Screeching around the corner, Babs couldn't believe what she saw in the side view mirror: not only had Harley managed to not fall off the moment Babs started driving, but she was standing up, grabbing the tow chain, her feet planted on the back of the stolen ATM, skidding across the pavement like water skis with sparks trailing behind her. She even waved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Harley!" Babs poked her head out the window. "What now!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't worry 'bout li'l ol' me, jus' take us back the way we came!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs ducked her head back into the car, keeping her eyes firmly on the road as she zoomed past the other cars at just thirteen over the speed limit – not that she cared about something as petty as traffic violations at this point, she just didn't want Harley to go flying off to one side and get dragged across a brick wall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley, true to her word, was handling herself fine. Holding on tight to the chain in front of her, she leaned back hard and put one hand in front of the other, pulling herself (and, by extension, the machine) closer and closer to the winch of the truck bed. Every inch she gained was another link swinging below her arm like coils of a rope.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She was about halfway there when she started hearing sirens.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh-oh."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Looking over her shoulder, Harley could see police cars turning the corner at a pace bound to catch up with them soon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey!" she yelled out. "We got company!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs could barely hear her through the noises of high-speed traffic, but one look at the rear-view was all it took for the car to stop dead at a green light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A stop this sudden had two unforeseen consequences: the first was that the pull of momentum flung the ATM onto the truck bed; the second was that it also flung Harley painfully onto the front windshield, loudly putting a small crack into the glass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"AAH!" screamed Babs, jumping back in her seat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley whimpered through the glass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs turned her attention towards the rear-view again, seeing the sirens grow louder and the red-and-blue lights grow brighter, while her nerves just plain grew. She opened the door and pulled Harley off of the windshield and threw her limp body into the car as quickly as she could. No time to buckle her into the passenger's seat – they had to go, and fast!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs hit the gas just as the traffic light turned red, prompting tunnel-visioned cars on either side to close up the street behind her, much to the cops' dismay. 'That ought to buy us some time,' Babs thought, though her brain was basically functioning on autopilot. 'But what am I supposed to do once that time runs out?'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley stirred from bare-consciousness. "Oy vey," she moaned, "give a gal a heads-up before ya pull a stunt like that, m'kay Babsy?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Harleen, I thought you said I wouldn't be doing this on my first hit!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I said I didn't expect it. Ya doin' great, though, jus' like I knew it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs gritted her teeth. 'Just finish this chase and it's over,' Babs thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alright," she huffed. "What do we do now?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Take a left up here. Looks like we're gonna need a li'l detour."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs did so reluctantly. She wanted to give Harleen a piece of her mind, but as they rounded another corner, she was taken aback by the sight of a bridge over a large expanse of water, and in the distance stood a city shrouded in darkness she knew all too well.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wait a second..." Harley could almost taste the anger and disbelief beginning to pour out of her partner's lips. "Is that Gotham? ARE WE SERIOUSLY TAKING A DETOUR THROUGH GOTHAM!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Eeyup!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"WHY!?!?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>" 'Cuz it's easier ta lose 'em there! Trust me, I done it a hundred times, always works, guaranteed!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs opened her mouth to speak, but just as quickly closed it. She knew better than to question Harley by now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Soon, they were halfway over the bridge. The police were still on their tail. Straight ahead, the old "Welcome to Gotham" sign came into view; as nostalgic as it was, it provided little comfort under the circumstances – if anything, it only made Babs sick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>'Turn back now,' said a voice in her head. 'Resisting arrest will only make the punishment more severe.' She didn't know what to do with that voice: she couldn't ignore it, couldn't acknowledge it, couldn't act on it, so what else was she supposed to do except spite it?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Gotham was just as she left it: nothing but doom and gloom, buildings tilted at odd angles zooming past her in nauseating succession. Home sweet home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Left and right, she continued to swerve oncoming traffic. Harley barely needed to pitch in this time, Babs knew her way around Gotham more than anyone she knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It felt like blasphemy to her: betraying everything she knew and followed, in the very city she'd been taught it in; and yet. she kept going. One turn through an alleyway led to the next, but the sirens followed. The more turns she made and the less conventional she was with her route, the more distant the sirens grew. This was her home turf, not theirs, and as blasphemous as she knew it was, it gave her power, and she could feel that power coursing through her the more she used it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It wasn't too long before the sirens went away altogether, leaving Babs with a sobering sense of relief.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, thank God, I think we lost them."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Something landed on top of the windshield. Something heavy. And loud. And dark.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The girls screamed. Harleen held tight onto Babs who, in turn, was holding for dear life onto the steering wheel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Standing on top of the now-completely-cracked windshield, there he was, his cape shrouding him in shadow with nothing to distinguish one part from the rest, save for a pair of horn-like ears and white, pupilless eyes: the Batman.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The truck came to another screeching halt, rolling Batman onto his back, off the hood of the car and onto the asphalt below.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oof," he groaned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Babs," said Harley. "Babs, we gotta go!" For the first time this entire trip, there was a twinge of worry in her voice. Babs didn't respond. She was shocked – stiff as a board, her whole body clenched tightly in on itself, she was a deer caught in the headlights of the events leading up to this moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Babs!" Harley gave her a shove to get her attention. Still nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"BABS!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley's gaze shifted over to the wide alley front of the truck, where Babs was staring. It was clear that Babs was staring into the void, but Harley had tried finding that void just in time to see a black, leathery hand climb up onto the hood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The girls screamed again, pulling Babs out from her trance. Shifting gear into reverse, Babs slammed down on the gas, and the black hand slipped off of the hood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The truck stopped where they could see the cowled shadow struggle to rise to its elbows, keeping eyes on the truck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Babs, we gotta get outta here!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And yet, Babs stared just a little bit longer – long enough to see Batman reach for a holster on his utility belt and think 'oh gosh!'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The truck turned almost on a dime, careening up against the side of the alley.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Batman aimed his grappling hook at the truck (the ATM, specifically), but at the very last microsecond, it swerved, and the hook instead caught onto the edge of the sidewalk dead ahead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The truck swerved again, and as Batman was propelled forward faster than he could react, the car halted to a stop with the grappling line passing right under it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>THUD!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The truck tipped towards the sidewalk before falling back down. From their seats, the girls watched Batman hanging onto the grappling gun as it reeled him onto the sidewalk, and then hung there limply.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A second passed. No movement. Two seconds passed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh gosh" Babs said, voice choked with remorse. "He's not dead, is he?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Three seconds passed. Batman squirmed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"OH GOSH, KILL IT, KILL IT, KILL IT!" Harley lost her mind; Babs followed suit, screaming bloody murder and aiming for the black cowl at full throttle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>KA-THUMP!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>KA-THUMP!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs veered the truck left onto the unoccupied main street as fast as she could.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Once they were a good few yards away, Babs glanced into the rear-view to see that the cowled figure was motionless laying on the side of the street.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>For a moment, all was silent. No sound was made, save for the speeding truck and the anxious breathing of the two young women. Harleen looked at Babs. Babs looked at Harleen. Harleen started to chuckle, and then Babs did too. The fear and excitement had left, and in its wake was laughter. Harleen's laugh escalated into a howl. Barbara's laugh sputtered into a weaker, more anxious half-sob. Everything had happened so fast and had been so surreal, she wasn't sure it had even happened at all, nor was she sure why her eyes were so adamant to avoid looking into the rear-view a second time. She was kidding herself: she knew she was afraid that the thing behind them would get up and give chase, but just as much, she was afraid it wouldn't get up at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The latter won out. She looked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Though she could only barely make out the shrinking black blob in the distance, she caught a glimpse of those blank, white eyes as the head rose up, then immediately laid back down. He wasn't going anywhere soon, but he was alive, that was all Babs cared about.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It wasn't until after they rounded a corner that she could actually feel herself breathe again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley managed to find someone willing to take the truck off their hands in return for an old clunker. They made the swap in an alley, got the tarp back out and threw it over the ATM once it was in the clunker.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>After watching the man drive off in their former red pickup, Harley and Babs closed the doors to their new car as they sat in the front seats in more total silence. This had less to do with the total anxiety of their situation and more to do with Harley waiting for Babs to say something; she'd been completely quiet up until now, and at the moment, she was just staring a big hole in the windshield, expression both uncertain and unmoving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley tapped her hand on the dashboard. Anything to break the silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So!" Harley went first. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Slowly, Babs blinked. She hadn't in a while, which she had only now realized. Harley had noticed a while back, and it kind of creeped her out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Did I just... fight Batman? THE Batman?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And won! And the way you used his grappling hook against him, I mean... wow! How'd you know to...?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know! It just... it just came to me, like... like fight-or-flight!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harley detected a hint of enthusiasm in her voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, figures ya'd know how to fight 'im; I mean, ya read about 'im all the time!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I... I guess so! I..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs gripped the steering wheel tight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...I fought Batman... and WON!" Her eyes widened and the smile that had been gathering at the corners of her mouth dropped. "Oh my gosh!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I met Batman."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yup! Sure did."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Leeny-meany, you don't understand: I... met... BATMAN."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh, yeah? We... kinda both did."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I. MET. BATMAN!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Babs exploded with raw, aimless excitement, squealing and squirming in her seat and biting her lip and kicking her seat and beating the air around her to a pulp with jaunty fists of steel. She even threw her mask into the back like she had just graduated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I! MET! BATMAN!" she announced as if she was addressing the whole world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The sound was a bit much bouncing around the inside of a closed truck, but Harley couldn't help but smile. "Congratumatations, Babs-a-doodle! Ya finally done it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ohhh my gosh, this... this is so much! I mean, I could just... just...!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That sentence was never finished; it didn't have to be. Babs threw herself headfirst into her best friend, wrapped her arms around Harleen's shoulders, and, completely without thinking, kissed her. And while Harleen had been caught by surprise, she soon smiled and kissed back, pressing her lips against Barbara's and bringing their heads level with one another. Her arms snaked their way around Barbara's waist and pulled each other closer than they had ever been in all these years.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And that, in that moment, was all that needed to be said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hit-and-Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bruce Wayne recovers from the aftermath of Babs and Harleen's heist.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's a bit shorter than the last one since not all that much happens in it (not that what DOES happen isn't important); on the bright side, I was able to come out with it much earlier than the last one, and thank God for that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the streets of Gotham where sunlight never touched the ground but through clouds of dark, greenish smog, Batman laid face-down on the sidewalk, arms limp while his hand clutched his grappling hook religiously. He couldn't let go if he tried.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>'Rigor mortis?' he wondered. 'No,' he thought back. You'd have to be dead for that to happen, and he wasn't. Not yet, anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Moments ago, his spine had made a crunching noise not unlike a celery stalk being snapped, and one look at the tire marks on his back would explain why. He was lucky to have armor so high-tech in his suit; otherwise, his bones would be certified bat-powder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>But he still had trouble moving. Something inside of him didn't feel quite right. When was the last time he breathed? He tried it. His lungs wouldn't move.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alfred," he called hoarsely. "Call... Alfred."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>No response. His voice-activated wrist communicator must be broken. He would have to crunch in his number by hand. Could he even move his fingers? He tried. Yes, He could, but barely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Every move was pain shooting daggers into his back, panicked synapses firing without aim, but soon enough, he brought one hand to the other and flipped up a panel on the back of his glove to reveal a small keypad.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>For every button he pushed, his finger felt like it was breaking all over again. Reminded him of a joke he once heard: a man goes to the doctor and says...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>'Focus, Batman! Get help! Don't let the delirium of post-traumatic shock slip you under!'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Twelve buttons. One to dial, eleven whole digits Batman had to use to reroute his call to some offshore directory so no one could ever trace his calls, no one could ever know Bruce Wayne is Batman. Was it worth it? The pain shouted 'no.'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The ringing started, and Batman gritted his teeth through the pain like he was eating his own mouth. The pain only seemed worsened by the anticipation of its relief.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>CLICK.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The man on the other line was given orders not to answer first, for secrecy's sake. But good grief, did Bruce need a friendly voice right about now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alfred? C-come in... Alfred."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes, Master Bruce?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There it was. The voice of an angel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I may need a ride home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm not reading your coordinates. Did something happen to your tracker?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You... could say that."</p>
</div><hr/><p>"So, lemme get this straight," said Robin as Alfred bandaged up a shirtless Bruce Wayne's many injuries, "two girls was drivin' this truck – a bright red truck, clear as daylight – you got the drop on them, and then, somehow, they not only manage to dodge your grappling hook, but send you flyin' into the side of their vehicle, givin' youse that big bump on your noggin..." He pointed to a large black spot on Bruce's forehead. "And then, to add insult to injury <em>to injury,</em> they run you over."</p><p></p><div>
  <p>"Yeah..." Bruce paused. His voice was weary, raspy, like the air had been crushed from his lungs. He continued: "I'll be the first to admit, it wasn't—" He gasped sharply as Alfred dabbed at more bruises with cotton.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Sorry, Master Bruce."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"—one of my finer moments."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Robin giggled. "You kidding? If I'd-a been there myself, I'd-a thunk it were a slapstick act! Why, if it was me, I'd-a opened that car door first thing and given 'um a good what-for!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm sure you would, Robin."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'd-a given 'um summa this!" He grunted as he punched the air. "And summa this!" He grunted again as he showed Bruce an enthusiastic scissor-kick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You <em>do</em> know the moves you use in combat depend on the context of the fight, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, yeah, but I got so many cool moves I been waitin' to use, ever since you taught me!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Bruce smiled. "I did, didn't I?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dick continued to grunt and assault his invisible opponent, and Bruce watched with that smile still on his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It wasn't long before Alfred had to shoo the young Grayson off to dinner so Bruce could be left to heal in peace. He was sore to leave, but Bruce promised to let Dick teach Batman some of Robin's moves for a change once he was all better. Dick seemed pretty excited after that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The door slid shut behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Honestly, Master Bruce, you spoil that poor boy," Alfred huffed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"At least he seems happy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, yes, but aren't you afraid of him growing up to be unpleasant? He's already a handful enough as he is."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Bruce tucked his hands behind his head. "Alfred, relaaaax! He's still got a few years on his belt before that stuff even matters, and when it does, I'll be there for him! Lord knows what I'd give to have my parents be there for me like that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's what I'm worried about, sir."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh?" Bruce cocked an eyebrow. With the angle he was laying at, Alfred couldn't have noticed if not for the part-concern, part-dismissal in his voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This altercation in the alleyway... it's incidents like this that make me wonder how many years you have left before this whole Batman charade does you in!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Bruce knew this was coming. He'd confronted himself about it a dozen times to the point where he got annoyed just by his caretaker bringing it up. "Alfred, seriously – <em>I'm Batman.</em> I'm prepared for the worst if it ever comes, and besides that, what's gonna happen that hasn't happened before?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It could always be worse, Master Bruce. Never underestimate that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Bruce sighed. He shifted a bit in his cot, but not too far, especially with his injuries the way they were.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You know," Alfred continued, "I hate to bring this up, but young Master Dick is almost as old as you were when... well... you know. And it really would crush me to see anyone go through that for a second time."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know all that, but I have to do what I have to do. I don't know who else to trust to do it, especially now that Comissioner Gordon's retired and Dick's far too young to do it on his own."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Then make sure he doesn't have to! Live to see him grow up, teach him while he can still learn from you! You at least have the chance to do what your parents never did, why spoil it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alfred? Can you just... leave me alone? Please? For one second?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The room fell silent. The air was tense, like if you moved a needle towards its center, it would burst.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Fine," Alfred huffed. "If that's what you want."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He slammed the door shut on his way out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Finally, Bruce was alone with his thoughts. Alone with Batman.</p>
</div><hr/><p>Dick sat at the unfathomably long and empty dinner table Wayne Manor was famous for. The windows next to it looked out over Wayne Estate, facing away from the grime and smog of the inner city just as most of Gotham's wealthy elite did. Bruce would have had it otherwise, but it had already been built that way when his parents had it built. Why change it?</p><p></p><div>
  <p>Dick's favorite spot to sit wasn't at either of the table's far ends, nor even in the middle where one could get a full view of the countryside; rather, it was next to Bruce's seat. Sometimes Bruce was there, sometimes he wasn't. When he was, they talked, they joked, Dick got to brag, and Bruce told him about his day as the most exciting person ever. When he wasn't, he wasn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Today, he wasn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With his fork, Dick poked at his last few bites of <em>duck a l'orange</em>, hand propping up his head over the table as he stared at it. It was already cold anyways.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dick looked around. Alfred wasn't there, was he? Maybe he was behind him? No? Good.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Secure in his solitude, he jumped up onto the table, barely missing the plate with his feet. He turned to face the ledge of the table, carelessly kicking the plate to the ground with a few silver utensils and chunks of duck to go with it. Dick looked out over the floor, and ignoring the spot he'd just made a mess on, it was his domain. He struck a pose.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Dick Grayson: Batman in training!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was here that his imagination ran wild. He jumped down to the chair which pivoted at the hind legs and eased him to ground level with a slam. He jumped onto the couch in the next room, and the nightstand causing a lamp to fall over, then the glass coffee table which he accredited his "ninja skills" to not breaking. True, Alfred would give him a proper what-for once he found out about all this (if he could catch him), but Alfred didn't matter – Batman did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Dick was Batman's favorite person in the whole, wide world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was just too bad he wasn't Bruce Wayne's.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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